My Backwards Walk
by musicalvoice
Summary: Despite Edward's best attempts, he and Bella aren't together. But every Friday, like clockwork, she ends up at his apartment in the early hours. This is a story about wanting, having and the messiness it entails.
1. Night One

A/N: Although this **isn't** a lyric fic, the idea grew out of a song and an old Lemonade Stand Flash Fic Friday submission. Enjoy

"_I'm working hard on walking out  
Shoes keep sticking to the ground  
My clothes won't let me close the door  
'Cause the trousers seem to love your floor._" – Frightened Rabbit, "My Backwards Walk"

* * *

"The date was awful," she said as she stripped off her shirt. "Total dud. I don't know why Kevin was under the impression I wanted to hear about rebuilding his engine, but he was seriously deluded." 

I sat on the edge of my bed and watched her take off each heel and her jeans without breaking stride. I promised last week that it would be the last time.

Clearly that promise meant nothing. Bella won out. She always did.

"I couldn't wait to get to your apartment, Edward," she said, pushing me back onto the bed and awkwardly yanking my shirt up over my torso. "You don't know how much I needed this. Needed you."

"I always need you," I told her as I firmly held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "It should've been me taking you out tonight."

"But I came home to you, isn't that what matters?" she asked, slipping out of my grasp and grinning slyly as she deftly removed my belt and jeans.

Three weeks. Three weeks in a row Bella had gone out with men who meant nothing to her only to show up at my apartment afterward.

She knew how I felt, but it wasn't enough for her. I wasn't enough for her. This would have to be enough until she changed her mind.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," I said as she straddled me, lightly cupping the side of her face as I finally slid into her.

"Lie to me again," she whispered.

"I love you," I replied.

I know she didn't believe me yet, but someday… someday she would.


	2. Night Two

"So, any prospects on the horizon?" Jasper asked as he spun his empty beer bottle on the extremely marred table top. The bottle wobbled as it stumbled over names and declarations of love carved long ago. Jasper had too much faith that the bottle would return safely to his hands. I guess he hadn't spilled beer on me in the five years we'd been coming to this dive, so maybe I should give him some credit.

"Oh, you know," I started, pretending to focus on my beer bottle's label. "Nothing but possibility."

Emmett smirked knowingly from across the table.

"What?" I asked.

"Has that 'possibility' kept you from coming out with us the past three weeks?" Emmett asked pointedly.

"I've been… busy," I muttered lamely. I don't know why I lied. We all knew I wasn't saving any face.

"Edward, man, you need to get some balls," Rosalie piped up from her spot beside Emmett. "I mean, you KNOW I love cars, but if I had to listen to last week's tool talk about rebuilding his engine for another minute…"

It's no wonder that I had opted to stay home and clean my keyboard the past few Fridays.

"It's not what you think –" I stopped.

"You've got to tell him, Alice. I swear, he's going to die!" Bella's voice made its way over to our table as she and Alice stumbled out of the bathroom, across the room in a dank corner.

"It's always what I think," Rose quipped and stood up to go to the bar. "Look – I think it's Bella!" she said and shot me a pointed glance as she walked away.

"What?" Bella asked, scrunching her face up and laughing. "I've been here all night!"

"Rose was just worried you had forgotten your name, darlin'," Jasper said. Emmett guffawed. Bella shrugged her shoulders and made quick work of finishing her drink.

"Edward, you won't believe what the bathroom wall said…" Alice began, making a weird circle in the air with her pointer finger. "HINT!" she whispered conspiratorially. "It's about you!"

"Hot damn! Was it ever about you," Bella whooped.

"I don't subscribe to bathroom gossip," I told them as I raised my glass to the bartender to let him know I was ready for our next round.

"Even if it's… true?" Bella raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"I can't wait: Whoever wrote on the wall said that your dick is the next messiah, Edward. THE NEXT MESSIAH!" Alice cackled.

"Are you sure that didn't say 'EMMETT' and not Edward, Alice?" Emmett had a preternatural need to be the center of attention.

"PLEASE don't EVER bring your name up in a conversation about penises, Emmett! You're my BROTHER," Alice said with disgust.

"DO YOU FORGET WHAT I SAW LAST MONTH?" Emmett yelled as he put his hands over his eyes, as if covering them would exorcise from his mind the memory of finding Alice and Jasper going at it on the kitchen counter.

"How do you know it's true, Bella?" Jasper asked with a smile.

"Oh, I have my ways…"

* * *

The air was colder and sharper than I expected for mid-April. I rubbed my hands up and down the side of my arms as I quickly jogged toward my apartment.

When we all met five years ago, I never imagined that we would become the best of friends. I did, however, know right from the start that I would love Bella.

I didn't know that I was going to be her doormat. Many guys would probably jump at the chance of regular sex without being in a relationship, but I wasn't one of them. Not with Bella, anyway. I loved her. I knew it. She knew it. I gave in every week because I needed a part of her. But every week it felt like I was sacrificing part of myself.

It had to end, I decided.

"Wait up, Edward!" I stopped when I heard the voice behind me. It was Bella. Of course it was.

"You forgot your phone."

"Thanks."

"You have a text message from Brittney," she said as she handed it over. "Not that I was looking, but the vibration is the only reason I noticed it. She wants to know what you're up to."

"So you did look?" I didn't care. But I wanted her to admit that she did.

"Well, it was flashing on the screen when I picked it up. So, what are you up to?"

"Trying to walk off that last pitcher," I admitted. "Just going home."

"Anyway," I started walking again.

"Are we OK?"

I turned and studied her face.

Her cheeks were slightly flushed. Her hair was all over the place. Bella had a habit of messing with her hair while she was drinking. She was so god damn beautiful.

"Always," I said with a nod. "Want me to walk you home?"

"I have a thing, um… I'm meeting Kevin."

"Well, I hope he moves on to subjects more stimulating than his engine tonight."

"Ugh, don't remind me. What a bore. Talk to you later, OK?" She raised her hand to cup my face as she always did. It normally didn't bother me, but tonight it just felt wrong. As did her promise to talk to me later, which we both knew meant another 2 a.m. call from my front door.

"You know what?" I said, changing my mind. "I'm actually going to call Brittney and head over there, so I'll talk to you later this weekend."

"Oh…. You are? I mean… OK. Well, have fun. Or don't. Or," she grimaced.

"Yeah, I'm just going to go. Bye, Edward."

I caught a taxi and texted Brittney. I was going to get over Bella.


	3. Night Two, Continued

"I was surprised to hear from you."

Two huge green eyes peered at me over the top of some vile looking fruity cocktail drink. We had moved from the bottom story of the cramped piano bar to its roomy patio for a little fresh air.

I took a long drag from my cigarette. "It's good to see you, Brittney," I said, and followed it with another drag. It's a bad habit, I know. My mom always told me that even saints sin, so I consider this my sin. Well... one of them anyway.

What was I doing here? I didn't really know. I needed to stop thinking for just one night. Brittney and I had a few classes together, but we'd never hung out off campus before. She'd been out tonight for a friend's birthday party and asked me if I wanted to grab a drink.

I didn't know why I was here, but I didn't really have a reason NOT to be here, neither.

"We don't know too much about each other. Let's change that," she said.

"What's there to know?

Over the next hour, Brittney and I talked about our childhoods and what we plan to do once we graduate.

"Are you going to be a good teacher or a mean teacher?"

"A MEAN teacher, of course!" I said with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes at me. "I don't believe you could be mean if you tried, Mr. Cullen," she said. "I'm going to be nice to the kids but mean to the parents."

"Your principal is going to love you!"

"What's not to love," she said with a laugh. "I'm stealing the next question, too. I see you on campus a lot with friends. Well, with a lady friend. Anything I should know?"

Brittney had a warm smile and kind eyes that looked a bit apprehensive at the moment. She twirled her drink's umbrella in her fingers as she waited for me to answer.

"Bella is a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in... an extremely confusing and messy burrito," I began.

She narrowed her eyes at me, visibly trying to figure out what existed in the mile-wide lines I'd left for her to read between. "Well, I don't really know what means, but I definitely want Chipotle now."

The girl was funny. I really liked that about her.

"Bella and I lived on the same floor in college. She called me a wrong name the first month we knew each other. And she still calls me 'Ernesto' when she's feeling feisty."

"That's a terrible name!"

"Try being called it by your entire floor for a full year! We just hit it off and have been very close ever since," I finished.

"I'm sorry if it seems I'm asking a lot of questions," Brittney said. "But my boyfriend of four years left me for another girl earlier this year, so I'm feeling very cheated by your kind at the moment. I just want to make sure I'm not stepping where I shouldn't step."

"Bella and I have never been anything official," I said honestly. "We've both had our own partners off and on the entire time we've known each other."

I watched as Brittney oddly put her hand up to her face, peeked between her fingers and grimaced. "Have you...?"

Ah, so she was embarrassed to ask. Truth be told, I was feeling a little embarrassed to tell.

"Had Chipotle tonight? No, but it's all I can think about now! Thanks," I said with a laugh. "But, honestly, can we save that question for another time?"

She bit down on her straw and sweetly nodded her head.

We hung out at the bar until we decided to call it a night around 1:30.

"Thanks for walking me home," she told me as she climbed up the extremely dilapidated steps to her front porch.

"I think you're a good one, Mr. Cullen. I would love to see you again."

"I think I'd like that too," I replied.

"Until then," she said softly as she opened the door and disappeared into her house.

* * *

As I walked home, I tried to referee the competing thoughts in my brain. Brittney. Bella. Beer.

It had been a long day.

Long fucking day.

I didn't know what I was doing. Part of me wanted to make Bella jealous by going out with Brittney. Part of me knew I needed to cut the cord for a while and distance myself from Bella. Yet there was always a small part of me that thought it was a great idea to call Bella and ask her to come over.

George Santayana said that those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. I'm not a fucking tortured guy, so why do I feel like I am absolutely miserable? Because I want what I can't have. And it's consuming me. Because I'm doing the same fucking thing every single day and expecting a different outcome.

I stumbled up my front steps and suddenly realized how much I had to drink over the course of the night. My brain churned as my stomach rolled. I couldn't keep living like this.

I leaned over the railing and took deep breaths in and out. In and out. In and out.

"Hey," I jumped as a voice appeared out of nowhere.

Bella.

"How was your….. 'date?'" She asked, making a face.

"It's late, Bella," I told her as I struggled to fit my key in the lock.

"Not really," she argued. "It's usually about this time every Friday.."

"Not tonight, Bella."

She hugged me from behind and started rubbing my chest.

"Can I come in?"

"Let's just talk tomorrow," I told her and finally made my way through the door.

"You're seriously not going to let me inside?"

I turned around and looked in her eyes. "I can't do this anymore, Bella. I can't. I'm sorry. You know how I feel."

I saw her lips tremble. "You don't want me?"

"No, Bella," I sighed. "The problem is that I want you too much. And you seem to only want me when you're drunk. I can call you a cab, but I can't do this."

Her eyes steeled over and she turned away from me.

"Whatever, Edward," she muttered and walked away.


	4. Night Three

Hi there! Isn't Bella the worst? Yeah, I kinda think so too. What's behind the curtain? Is it a horse of a different color? I guess we'll see... Please keep sending me your thoughts and theories - I read every review. Thanks for the love!

I don't own Twilight.

* * *

"So, how's your week been going?" Jasper asked as we watched his Grand Theft Auto character be beaten for trying to steal a car. "From what I've heard, it was something like this?"

I had to laugh. It had actually been one of the better weeks in recent memory - quiet and surprisingly drama-free. Bella-free, too. But I knew where - or should I say whom - this question was really coming from. "What did Alice tell you," I outright asked him.

"It seems all's not well in fair Verona," he said as he handed me the controller.

"Bella and I are taking a break," I admitted, fully aware he already knew the details from the other side of the theoretical fence.

"Did I miss the part where you were finally together?" He asked.

"Of course not," I scoffed. "You know Bella. She wants nothing to do with me until 2 a.m."

"So you cut her off?"

"I just need a break and some space, Jasper. I don't really like the person she is right now. It concerns me."

"Good," he said as he stood up to get another beer. "Bella is... she's like an anchor right now, man. I don't know what it is, but something has dragged her down. Don't let yourself be dragged down too."

* * *

Another Friday night spent beneath the dull glow of the Stube's bar lights.

"Long story short, Emmett thought 'babushka' was an appropriate term of endearment to use in bed," Rose laughed.

"It's the Olympics, man! I saw a story about this little old Russian woman whose life-long dream was to -"

"Oh, Emmett. You're my little babushka," Alice cut him off and pinched his sizeable cheeks.

The beers and conversation flowed as they would any other week. I waited for someone to ask where Bella was, but the absence of the question made me assume the topic had been covered before I got here. I was in the dark; I hadn't talked to Bella since our late night conversation last week.

It was a little uncomfortable knowing that everyone had probably heard the gritty details of our - whatever this was. Clusterfuck came to mind. I'd heard way more salacious things about the rest of the group's business over the years, so I didn't dwell it too much. It was an unavoidable side effect of being in a large, extremely close group of couples: you're just gonna hear stuff you don't want to know. Emmett's babushka fetish being the current case in point.

Pure Prairie League came on the jukebox, which delighted Jasper and elicited groans from the rest of us.

The jukebox was, depending on who you asked, the best or worst part of the Stube. While it was stocked with some truly great albums, there was a limited selection. And there are only so many times you can hear "Amie" before going insane.

But the jukebox was a far cry better than Stube's foray into live music with a house band two summers ago. The idea turned out to be terrible; the band couldn't plug in without overloading the electrical circuits and there was barely room to breathe even before adding five people and their equipment. I also blame it for bringing Riley into our lives. At the very least, I blame it for bringing Riley into Bella's life.

Riley was the bassist for Table of Nick, a local band that got the summer-long residency at the Stube. Jasper and I were already vaguely familiar with him because he worked at the record store on north campus, so he stopped over when he spotted us at our usual table the first Friday they played.

"Hey dudes! It's so cool you're here tonight. Are you ready to be rocked?"

Did I mention that Riley was kind of a douche?

"Hey, Riley," Jasper responded. "What a nice coincidence. We all come here every Friday, so you'll probably be seeing us a lot this summer."

Rose and Emmett were oblivious to the conversation, off in their own little bubble as usual. Alice was at the bar grabbing drinks and Bella... Bella's face was verging on being the color of a tomato. She was pretty shy and quiet back then - what a difference a year and a half could make.

"That's the plan," Riley said. "I don't believe we've met," he addressed Bella. "No, I'm sure we haven't met, I definitely would've remembered you."

"I'm not very memorable," Bella said with a shake of her head. "It's Bella. Nice to meet you."

Every Friday, Riley found a reason to come over to our table for longer and longer. The rest of us would fade into the background while Riley and Bella had ridiculous conversations, seemingly in their own little world. As the weeks rolled by, their relationship progressed pretty quickly. Before I knew it, Riley had moved in with Bella and our group saw her less and less. After the summer, Bella stopped showing up altogether. I heard from Alice that Bella and Riley had broken up and that she needed time to sort things out.

None of us really saw Bella until the next summer. She told us that she had gone home to her parents' house to clear her mind, but things were really different once she game back. Gone was the somewhat shy, timid Bella... Bella 2.0 had arrived. Shortly after she got back she had surprised me by showing up at my apartment late one night. Which sort of brought us to present day, in all its messy fucked up glory.

Emmett sloshed beer on the table as he plopped a full - well, mostly full now - pitcher into the center of the table, jarring me back to present day.

"Edward, good sir," he began with a British accent. Emmett got _really _weird when he had too much to drink. "I dost thou believeth that thou hasn't had enough to drink...eth."

"That is _literally _the worst thing I have ever heard, man," Jasper said, filling a glass. "But he has a point. Drink."

So I did. I was usually against drinking as a form of avoidance, but I needed out of my head for a little while.

When I finally fell asleep that night, I tossed and turned as I dreamt of a girl who was struggling to save herself from drowning. I tried to help her, but she kept slipping out of my grasp. I woke up with a start, looked at the clock and grabbed my keys.

It was time to make a 2 a.m. trip of my own.


	5. Late Night Three, Late Night Four

Hi guys! I'm sorry, I really didn't intend for the last chapter to be a cliffhanger – and I certainly didn't expect it to take me this long to get the next chapter out! Sorry on both counts. I'd like to thank everyone who's reading this – and also Nicffwhisperer and the ladies at The Lemonade Stand for reccing the story. I appreciate your support!

Here we go…

* * *

I couldn't stop staring at the blinking red traffic light in front of me. I was a block from Bella's house and had literally been standing in the same spot for five full minutes. I'd never considered this light – which I had seen, oh, about a thousand times before – to be a sign. But it stopped me in my tracks tonight.

My idea was stupid. Showing up on her doorstep in the early hours of the morning after a night of drinking? Had I not turned her away for doing the same thing to me?

Yep. I was the pot. Or the kettle. Either way, I didn't really have a leg to stand on.

So I took one last look at the light and turned around.

Sleep didn't come to me that night. I alphabetized my bookshelf. Cleaned underneath the couch. Staged sample lesson plans for school.

Mostly, though, I thought about how fucking hopeless it was.

What is the point of love if the other person isn't guaranteed to love you back? What's the point of making such a huge gamble – allowing your heart and spirit to be on the line for all to see – if you might end up losing it all in the end? Why does anyone find that to be a worthwhile risk?

Because you can't help who you love. Your heart acts of its own accord, independent of your infinitely more self-preservational brain. Your heart puts itself on the line and you're a slave to the results.

But does it have to be like that? _Should _it be like that?

I knew I was a fairly intelligent guy. I wasn't completely unfortunate in the looks department. I cared about other people. I was going to be a teacher, for crying out loud. So shouldn't it be easier?

Do we love who we love, or can we change it? Is there such a thing as "learning" to love someone who's good for you?

Those are the thoughts that kept me up. When the sun rose that morning, I was no closer to having any answers than I was four months ago. As the sun streamed optimistically through the slats of my windowblinds, I gave up and closed my eyes.

* * *

"Close your eyes," she whispered as a small set of soft hands gently covered my eyes. "Are you ready for a small, small piece of my hometown?"

"As ready as I'll ever be? And just for the record, Brittany, I find it highly unlikely that anything in a crappy bar is going to remind me of coastal North Carolina," I told her with a laugh.

"Oh ye of little faith!" She slowly dropped her hands. My eyes took a minute to adjust to the bright neon.

"Oh, seriously?" I asked as I looked at the ridiculous machine in front of me. "They actually have these things?"

"NO, of course not!" she said incredulously. "We have giant boats filled with salty old fishermen whose lifeblood is catching these things. Collectively, they're very upset that you even suggested that," her eyes were wide and her face was serious, but the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips gave her away. "This is just the closest thing to home that I find in this landlocked state. Now win me a lobster."

The bar had an updated copy of the old claw game that's found in so many super markets – but instead of stuffed animals, the enclosure was filled with water and live lobsters. The sign said you got a free lobster dinner if you actually caught one. I'd seen the machine several times, but that didn't make it any less strange to me.

"What are you going to do if I actually win you one?" I asked, curious, as I smoothed out a dollar bill and struggled to get the machine to accept it.

"I'd probably take it home and put it in my bathtub."

"You know that they need – " Annnnnd I had already lost the game. I'd swear that one of the fat lobsters had just rolled its eyes at me. But part of me was actually relieved. Sure, I ate meat and fish – but catching it yourself puts things in a whole new perspective.

"I know. Please don't actually win! I'd be very sad. Do you think we could liberate them?"

I looked at the sedentary creatures, literally waiting for their moment to be snapped up by a clumsy claw and dropped in a far less-pleasant vat of water. What a way to live. But then again, didn't we all have a somewhat similar fate?

"Not a chance," I told her as I grabbed her hand and steered her toward an open booth.

"So tell me what's going on with your life," I asked as we inched closer to each other on the booth's semi-circle bench.

"Oh, you know… Just another non-eventful day," she shrugged. "I re-arranged my room and graded some papers. Thought about you some, too."

"Really? Good thoughts, I hope?" I asked her.

"That's the thing – I've been having a lot of thoughts. Almost uniformly pleasant thoughts," she said, beautiful eyes shining with reflections of the cheesy bar lights.

"Tell me about these thoughts," I smiled.

Our conversation was stilted by a shot girl. I bought us three rounds each and waited for Brittany to continue.

"So, these thoughts…"

"You're persistent. I'll give you that," she told me as she finished a shot.

"I think we're a good team," she continued. "We seem to work well together. I like your sense of humor. I like the way you talk to your students. I never know what you're thinking… but I'm dying to know."

"I've been thinking about you, too," I admitted, spinning the cheap plastic shot cup around in a circle.

"What about me?" she asked, cupping my hands with hers.

"You're the sweetest girl I've ever known," I told her. "Your eyes are so full of life. You're so intelligent. You light up rooms. How do you do that?" I asked.

She smiled as she ghosted her hand down the side of my face.

"I like you, Brittany. A lot," I admitted. "But I have to be fair to you. Things in my life are fairly complicated right now. And messy. And I don't want to bring you into something that's unfair to you."

"Bella?" she asked.

I smiled lamely. I couldn't help someone who didn't want to help herself. But I also couldn't banish her from what seemed to be every waking thought.

"I'm worried about her, but it's not really my story to tell."

"Are you together?" She asked.

"No."

"Do you want to be together?"

"Right now? No."

"Is she your future, Edward?"

"I don't know."

"Are you going to hurt me in the end?"

"I sure hope not," I admitted.

"I think we've done enough talking, then."

She grabbed my hand and silently led me through the crowded streets, through groups of frat boys waiting in line and groups of girls waiting to shake their asses in their skimpy bar wear.

My eyes never left her.

Time moved slowly and quickly; we were at her house and sitting on her couch before I knew it, but there was a year in every second that ticked while I mentally questioned if it was a bad idea.

"Edward," she called me back to the moment.

She climbed on my lap, grabbed my shirt and crashed her lips against mine.

"Be here," she said.

So there I was.


End file.
